


Family Matters

by Su_Whisterfield



Series: Family Matters [1]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Profanity, Terrorism, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:27:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21595345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Su_Whisterfield/pseuds/Su_Whisterfield
Summary: The Quiet Council tell Mystique that they won’t be reviving her wife.She doesn’t take this well.Even by my standards, Logan swears a lot in this one, but he does have good reason to be a little tetchy.Heed the warnings, the torture is brief, but it’s there.
Relationships: Logan (X-Men) & Kurt Wagner
Series: Family Matters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1660774
Comments: 23
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

His fucking mother. The fucking mad bitch.  
When they refused to bring back her missus, Irene, she pulled a gun, in the middle of The Council chamber, and blew her son’s brains out. Lovely woman.  
Which raised a couple of questions. First being, how the hell she got a gun in there, given Chuck had lost his own head, not a month before, what kinda security set up are the idiots running?  
And, more important, why did nobody bother to tell me?

So they bring him back, two days later, brand new body, let him out, blam, she gets him through the windows of his habitat with a high powered rifle.

Rinse. Repeat. She makes it known that she’s going to keep this up until they give her what she wants.

This goes on for nearly two weeks. And no fucker, on the entire fucking island let’s me fucking know that bitch is using my gentle lad as target practice. I’m off island, I’m undercover, but what’s the fucking use of fucking telepaths, let alone a fucking phone if no fucker uses it.

I only find out when I get back and get summoned into The Council with the Captains.  
Fuck all use they are.

They’re after her big time now, she blew up a cafeteria to get him. Lots of collateral damage.

I listen to Summers babble on for five minutes about new plans to apprehend her, before it starts to dawn on me exactly what’s been going on. I didn’t know. Didn’t know the bitch had been doing this. Didn’t know these fuckers had been using her son as bait, to draw her out. Didn’t know my fucking friend had been killed four times in the past ten days. Didn’t know. And I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there for him.

My hands are clenched, the burn of the blades forcing through the skin is my focus, just the tips of them. The urge to shred the whole, heartless lot of them is huge. Three seats are empty, besides Mystique’s. His is empty, because he’s currently dead. Storm and Kitty are in Singapore, I know, I saw them about an hour ago. Ororo doesn’t know either, bet a million bucks on that; if she did, all of them would be cinders by now.

Jeannie feels my anger building. Looks at me. Looks at me and looks away. I’m more angry at her than anyone, Summers is still prattling on.  
“... draw her out again. We...”  
“No.” I don’t raise my voice but it cuts over him. The whole room stares at me. Except Jeannie. I look up, right at Charles fucking Xavier. I can’t remember ever being so angry with him but I need to control myself, the claws retract but my knuckles are bloody. I focus on the smell of blood. “Enough. No.”  
Summers draws breath but he sees my face. He looks away too, coward.  
“Logan.” Chuck’s tone is conciliatory, kind. I walk over to stand in front of him, resting bloody hands on the pristine white table. Kind. Fatherly. Mother fucker.  
“No.” He doesn’t look away, I feel the gathering power from Mags and that bastard Apocalypse. Don’t give a fuck. I’ll tear him and his precious Council into shreds before they get to use him again. They should never have started this in the first place. They all know this. They all know they are wrong. “When are you reviving him?” I keep my tone conversational.  
He holds my gaze.  
“Logan, Kurt agreed to...” Of course he fucking agreed, he’s a goddamn fucking idiot too.  
“When?” I bark. Everyone jumps, even Apocalypse.  
It’s Summers, behind me who replies. “Wolverine, stand down.”  
I turn towards him. The red mist is starting to descend. I. Have. Had. Enough.  
Then Jeannie speaks up. Probably one of only two voices which could get through to me, and the other is currently in an egg shaped coffin. Thanks, in part to her. “They’ll be reviving him in about half an hour. Logan, he’ll be fine, we...”  
“Right, then I’d better get down there.” My tone is conversational, casual. “Wouldn’t want him to wake up alone.” I look at her. “Without family there.”  
I walk out. I don’t care if I never see a single one of the bastards ever again.

They don’t want to let me in at the Hatchery. They can see how furious I am. Bad vibes. And I don’t want to go ballistic at them, they’re not to blame, but my control is slipping. People are hanging about, waiting for relatives, friends. But little Hope is just going in. She owes me; she remembers this and she leads me through, no one argues with her, she is like a god to them.  
It’s still fucking weird shit. Even by X-Men standards.  
They’re reviving all the people killed in the cafeteria when the bomb went off. Must be a dozen of them. That mad bitch has to be stopped. For good.

Oh, god, there. Even among a bunch of us, of mutants, he stands out. Unique. Strange. Beautiful.

Everyone else files out, they’re looking fine, he looks dazed, lost. Ah, shit, kid, what have we done to you?

Then he’s in my arms. He’s shaking. He’s scared. Kurt isn’t scared of anyone, anything, I’ve seen him go up against folks four times his size, without any hesitation. And that fucking bitch has reduced him to this. And the fucking Council fucking let her. I hold him close. I never want to let go. He smells odd, not like himself though. He smells new.  
“Ah, Elf. I wasn’t here. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”  
“Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.” I have no idea what he’s apologising for, or to, he’s the innocent one here. I run my hands through his hair, he hides his face against me. 

I pick him up, not easy, he’s taller than me, but he’s not heavy. The orange egg goo is shockingly bright against the blue. He’s breaking my heart. There’s a long list of people who damn well deserve the shit life throws at them and he’s pretty much at the bottom of the list.  
I carry him home.

Summers and Jeannie are already up there, guess I disrupted their little shindig. Good.  
I ignore them. I have nothing polite to say. We wouldn’t be up here, on the moon, if it wasn’t the safest place I could think of to bring him. I walk past them both, carrying him into my room.

See, he’s not just my Elf, he’s _ours _  
All of us. Me, Summers, Jeannie, ‘Ro, Petey, Kitty.  
Family, we’re part of a team, but we’re family. You can add Anne Marie, Sean, Hank, Warren, Bobby, probably Betsy now too. And he’s at the heart of it. And we protect our own. We look out for them. We don’t use them as bait for their insane mother to slaughter.  
We made him, Chuck, Summers, me. We turned a circus acrobat into a superb, first class, grade A superhero. He’s good at it, great at it, poster boy for everything the X-Men are supposed to be, supposed to stand for.  
But we protect him too. Not in a fight, he doesn’t need that sort of protection, we keep him from the darker shit, the wet work, the darker, nastier side of what we fight for. He’ll never have a killer instinct, the day he does, we’ll have lost, both him and the fight for a better world.  
I protect him. And if I’m not there, Ororo, or Summers or Jean or Peter.  
They know all this, which I why I’m so damn angry.__

____

____

He comes out of my shower, wrapped in a huge towel, he’s still not talking, eyes downcast. He’s damaged, hurt, I’m not sure what to do with him, he’s fragile. This isn’t our brave, charming, fearless Kurt.  
He sits on the edge of my bed, looks around.  
“Where...?”  
“My place. You’re safe here.” He nods, distracted, lost.  
“We need... I need to...”  
“No. Enough.” I tilt his head up, make eye contact. “They’re gonna sort it out. You’re staying here.”  
“But she hurt people...”  
“Shh. It’s fine, they’re all fine.” I’m really not liking the vagueness in his voice.

My hearing picks up raised voices in the habitat, I tense and he senses my reaction, eyes searching over my shoulder towards the door, he’s shaking. But I recognise the voice. **Jeannie. Let her in.** I might be furious with Jean, but our psylink is still firm.  
Ororo flies through the door, like a Fury, hair swirling about her, the air crackles with ozone, her eyes glow.  
“Where...” She sees him, cowering, shaking, wrapped only in a towel. And the fire goes out of her. “Oh, Kurt! Beloved.” She gathers him against her and he sobs, a frightened, broken sound, he clings to her, like a drowning man. She’s crying now, proud, beautiful Wind Rider and they’ve hurt her too.

Jeannie’s *voice* is in my head. **I checked, it’s safe, it is Ororo.**  
**Thanks.** Still furious with her. 

Funny thing, love. Comes in all shapes and sizes. And colours.  
Kurt is always there for me. I tell folks he’s my best friend because he’s the only one who has always treated me like a man, not an animal, but that’s only part of it. Even when I am an animal, he treats me like a man. I’ve called him in the middle of the night, dragged him out of bed to cold, damp motel rooms, greasy diners, empty cliff tops. I’ve swore at him, thrown bottles at him, puked on him, hell, I’ve even hit him and, most importantly, I’ve poured my soul out to him, and he listens, and then, gently, patently, pieces me back together again. And again. And again. 

And now, when he needed me, I wasn’t there for him. What kind of love is that?  
I love him. Only man I’ve ever said that to. And I meant it. And I’m a better man for having him in my life. And I let him down.  
I want to take him away from all this shit, from her, from all of them. Somewhere, anywhere. Barcelona. He wants to see Barcelona, went there as a kid with the circus and spent the whole time sick with the flu in a caravan. So he’s always wanted to go back.  
We’ll go rent a little apartment, hell we’ll rent a big apartment, ‘Ro is welcome to come too. Forget all this fucking X-Men shit, forget Krakoa, forget saving the fucking world again. We’ll just get away from it all.

I watch Ororo stroking his hair, rocking him, letting him cry out his fear.  
He’s the colour of the evening sky, his hand grasps her arm, those unique hands. His tail around her waist. I can’t take him away from here because of what he looks like. He can’t be safe out there because stupid, ignorant people see only something, rather than someone, something to be afraid of, something to hurt, to kill, because he’s different to them. The anger rolls through me. He’s beautiful. His soul is beautiful. Why can’t they see that? 

I need a breather, before he picks up my anger. I touch ‘Ro’s shoulder and she nods, he’s safe with her.  
“Hey?” He lifts his head to look at me, I cup his cheek in my hand, wipe a tear away with my thumb. How dare Mystique do this to him? “Gonna swing by your place to get you a few things, toothbrush, clothes. Ya know ya look stupid in mine. Okay?”  
That gets me a weak smile, he’s nearly a head taller than me, he’s half my weight, not gonna work. He’s not going home until it’s safe, I don’t care how long it takes. 

So, it’s bombs, is it now, you mad bitch? Well, I know how your sick mind works, see, I’m a sick bastard too. And I think I know what your next move is. And I’m ready for you. And I’m taking you down, for good.


	2. Chapter 2

Bad end to a bad day. Bad couple of weeks.  
Jean has regained her composure, but she keeps glancing towards Logan’s room. She’s aching to go in there, to help. But it’s been made quite clear to her, to both of us, that we are not welcome. Hearing it from Ororo hurt most; they’re as close as sisters, I’ve never seen them have so much as a cross word with each other before now. I can’t remember ever seeing Ororo so angry, with her, with us. She’s furious about Kurt, but she’s also angry that there were Council meetings she didn’t know about. And that there was a dangerous terrorist running amok for a fortnight.  
Damn Mystique, damn her to hell for all this

I go and make coffee, just for something to do. I spill some of the grounds, they’re hard to get hold of, what with being on the moon.  
“Damn it.” I slam the spoon in the sink.  
Jean comes over, puts her arms around me.  
“Oh, Scott.” she’s on the edge of tears again. “He’s right. We let him down.”  
I can think of half a dozen rebuttals, logical, sensible, tactical, I've been rehearsing them in my head. They’re all wrong. I breathe in the soft smell of her hair. Think of my strong, kind, gentle friend, reduced to a shaking wreck. I’m still seeing Logan carrying him through the habitat, he didn’t look like Kurt, he looked like a victim.  
What a mess.  
”I know, Jean, we did. We all let him down.”

I knew it was a stupid idea, right from the start. This is not his fault, none of it, even though he was the first to suggest it. After she killed him in the Council chamber, he sat there, in the same seat she had shot him in, looked down at his white gloved hands clasped before him, and said the stupid word ‘bait’. We, all of us, Council and Captains both, said ’yes’. Not ’no’.  
As Logan, and now Ororo, have quite clearly pointed out, protecting Kurt includes protecting him from himself.  
Our second error was in not letting his two best friends, the two people closest to him know what was happening. Or or was it continuing once it all started to go south? Or not protecting him better? Or not catching the damn woman?  
All of the above.

Gentle Kurt. Except, he’s really not all that gentle; he’s finely controlled mayhem in a fight, elegant as a dancer but if one of those feet hit you, one hundred and sixty pounds behind it, you’re down, particularly as he can follow up with a punch. And another one. And another. And again.  
He’s just gentle compared to the rest of us, doesn’t go looking for trouble or arguments, he’s very conflict adverse. Unlike some people.  
He’s led teams, but he doesn’t really enjoy it; he can do it but his real problem is that he doesn’t like making hard choices which put others at risk, he also tends to second guess his own decisions. He’s a much better fit on The Council, when he can take his time to consider options, strategy; to plan. He’s intelligent, observant and experienced and not afraid to tell you when you’re wrong (but too politely, sometimes, Kurt, you need to say “that’s stupid and dangerous” rather than “I really don’t think it’s a good idea”).

At the end of the day, he’s just a nice, decent person that the women love to fuss over and the other guys like to hang out with.  
Including our resident psychopath, for some reason I’ve never been able to fathom.

Pretty sure half the guys on the team have always considered Kurt to be an over-educated bed warmer anyway, kept around by Charles, to keep Logan sweet. 

Their relationship is no ones business but their own, but they are close.  
Except, Nightcrawler. You know. The nice one. And Wolverine. The not nice one.  
Doesn’t help that being a protective big brother is ingrained in my bones.  
For heavens sake, Kurt, why?  
I asked him about it, once, during a night at Harry’s Hideaway. He just looked at me, smiled that sweet smile, patted the back of my hand and said. “Don’t worry, Scott, he’s my friend.” As though that explained everything. I didn’t understand, I still don’t. Kurt is much, much harder to read than Logan. Wolverine has just four base instincts, ‘fuck’, ‘kill’, ‘eat’ and, fortunately for all of us, ‘friend’. If you make the cut and end up on the friends list, all is good. But Kurt is all nuance, all hidden under the surface smile, it’s much harder to know what’s going on in his head.

And we were total fools, all of us, for not telling Logan what was happening to his best friend and he may never forgive us, never quite trust us again. He’ll never trust us with Kurt’s safety again. This is going to reverberate through the team for years.

He’s standing there, in the door to the lounge. Watching us. Eyes hard.

“There’ll be another bomb.” No preamble, no small talk. “My guess is she’s planted it in his habitat. Ready for when he goes home.”  
It makes sense, fits her _modus operandi_ , I open my mouth to agree but he talks over me.  
“I’m goin’ down there. Get his stuff. Check it out.” He points at Jean, cocks his thumb at his door. “No one goes in there, not you, not anyone. Chuck turns up, tell him to fuck right back where he came from. No one gets near him.” He points at me. “You’re with me.”  
I squeeze Jean’s hand, then go with him, meek as a lamb. 

*****

The bomb is in or under his bible. The evil of it is mind numbing.  
It’s not a big bomb this time, it doesn’t need to be, it’s as likely to maim as kill outright. 

He’s in full Wolverine mode, hard, efficient, he can smell the Semtex, walks nearly straight to it. Then he goes hunting, silently, we don’t know if the place is bugged. I’m left to make small talk about packing sweat shirts and how nice the place is. And it is lovely, huge picture windows facing east, Krakoa spread out below, Ororo is living somewhere near here, and Sean and Theresa Cassidy. 

Wolverine finds what he’s looking for, in one of the drawers. We leave with a small bag of clothes and underwear, he makes a comment about bringing Kurt home tomorrow and we’re out of there.

I don’t think I draw an deep breath until we’re back in the habitat on Luna. That was nerve wracking and it was all of thirty minutes, Kurt’s been under that stress for two weeks. Alone. When he wasn’t dead, of course. The enormity of what we expected of him comes home to me. Crap.

When we enter the living area, Logan throws something at me, I catch it on reflex but my heart starts pounding when I realise it’s metal. Has he lobbed a fucking grenade at me? I look down at the small metal barrel. It’s Kurt’s Image Inducer.

“Ya should have thought of this two weeks ago, branaic.” He growls at me, and picking up the bag of clothes, he goes back into his bedroom.”

Of course we should.


	3. Chapter 3

Ororo is standing in the doorway to our kitchen. Calm, composed, beautiful, as always.  
“Jean.”  
I look up from my coffee, it’s bitter and cold now “Ororo! Is he okay?”  
She looks down at me, those sky blue eyes are piercing. “Kurt needs to eat, could you provide something?” Her tone is neutral, as though she’s speaking to a stranger, that stings almost as much as her earlier anger.  
“Oh! Of course.” I’m kicking myself, I should have thought of this, he’s not eaten since he was revived, he must be ravenous. I do a mental inventory of the kitchen. “Toast and scrambled eggs and tea?”  
“That will suffice.” She turns to go.  
“Ororo?” She doesn’t turn back but looks over her shoulder. “Is he okay?”  
“No, Jean he is not ‘okay’. He is very sick.”  
I swallow, oh, Kurt. “Please, let me help. Please don’t be angry...”  
She turns back towards me, her face is a mask.  
“I am no longer angry, Jean, I am simply heartbroken that people I loved, people I trusted, could allow one of our own to be hurt like this. You have not earned the right to ’help’ him. Leave that to those of us who have his best interests at heart, rather than that of Krakoa or the Council.”

The guys return and Logan goes off into his room with a bag of Kurt’s clothes, he doesn’t so much as glance in my direction, Ororo’s words are still in my ears. I haven’t earned the right.

  
*****  


We hold a council of war, in our lounge. Ororo joins us by my psylink; Kurt is asleep but she won’t leave him alone. The fewer people involved, the better, but we’ll have to expand our number by one; none of us know how to program the Image Inducer, beyond its basic settings. Uploading a new image is easy, Logan’s managed to make Kurt look like Angelina Jolie before now. But customising the image is much harder. Of course, Kurt would know, Logan looks at Scott when he suggests it.  
“Fuck off, Summers.” Oh, this is going so well.  
“He knows how...”  
“What part of ‘traumatised’ don’t you fuckin’ get?”  
“This attitude isn’t helping him.”  
“Use your fuckin’ head, Summers. We’re programming this thing to look like him, after a goddam’ bomb has gone off in his face.”  
Scott rubs his hand across his forehead. “Ah, hell, Logan. Of course you’re right, I’m sorry. I haven’t slept for over twenty four hours.”  
“Good for you. He hasn’t slept for two fucking weeks.” Twisting the knife. “Unless you count when he’s dead?”  
Ororo speaks up. **I trust Forge?**  
I agree with her. “So do I, but I think Hank might be even better?” 

We agree on Hank, mostly because we all know Kurt likes him.  
I scan him as he enters the Luna habitat, a deep scan, it’s what I’ve been using every time anyone is out of our sight, to quote Logan, she’s a sneaky bitch. But she can’t hide from a deep scan.

Hank is allowed access to Kurt, his watchdogs want him checked over, he comes out of the bedroom wiping his glasses and declares Kurt exhausted but otherwise physically fine, he’s mentally very fragile, we all know that.  
We fill Hank in on our plans.  
We’re doing this tomorrow.

*****

I can’t sleep, seems to be a common problem around here.  
I go into the lounge and watch the Earthrise, gradually I become aware that I’m not alone.

Of course, he’s all but invisible in the dark. Just his eyes, softly glowing, and tips of his ears, nose and cheekbones reflecting the blue light of our home planet.  
His knees are drawn up onto the sofa, his hands on them, a classic Kurt pose, he wasn’t made for human chairs. He rests his head on his folded hands and looks at me. 

Eyes which glow are not that unusual amongst us, I know mine do at times, Ororo’s too and we won’t go into the unbridled force of Scott’s, it’s the pent up power within. But Kurt’s eyes are different, it’s not latent power, it’s a warm, soft glow. It drove Moira insane, she so loved unpicking the tangled knot of our genomes, her scientific curiously insatiable. But those golden lights defeated her science. Maybe it’s the light of fairyland? Or maybe it’s heaven?

His eyes might be open, but his mind is not; he’s asleep, or mostly so.  
I’d better get him back to his bed. I go and crouch beside him.  
Logan looms over us, I feel his presence like a growl in the back of my head.  
**He’s sleepwalking.**  
**I know.** He bends and smoothly lifts Kurt, who closes his eyes and relaxes, his arms going loosely around Logan’s muscular neck.  
“Come on, it’s time good little elves were in bed.”  
I’m left crouching beside the empty sofa.  
**I think he needs help, Logan.** He knows what I mean. I’m expecting a battle but, as always, he’s full of surprises.  
**Yeah. He’s gonna need a shrink, this is gonna’ take more than ‘Ro and me to fix. But we need to corral that toxic bitch first, the fear is eating him alive. We take her down. Then I’m taking him somewhere safe, somewhere away from all this crap.**  
He lowers his head and kisses the soft blue hair. He looks at me for the first time. **Love isn’t just sex, lust, want, Jeannie. It’s people who are there for you when the bad shit happens. He’s always been there for me. Hell, even being dead didn’t stop him. And I wasn’t there when he needed me. Because no one told me what was happening. People I trusted didn’t tell me, because they knew what they were doing was wrong. So I owe him, and I love him, so I’ll carry him until he doesn’t need me to, until he finds his legs again. However long it takes.**

He turns his back on me and goes into his room.

He’s never been really angry at me. Ever. I suppose I never thought he would, that I expected that whatever I did, it would be okay, I’d be okay. Because it’s me. Because of what’s between us. Because he loves me. Because we love each other.  
Worse than anger, that cold nothing. Being cut out of his circle.  
He has this very strong sense of family. Not by blood but by some strange, inner moral code that puts those under his care into a special place in his heart. They’re usually young, often young women. Kitty, Jubilee, Laura, Gabby. He’s their mentor, their protector, their champion.  
And then there’s Kurt. His friend. His best friend. Where does he fit in?  
He loves him. What does that mean? Loves him like a brother? Son? Lover?  
It’s none of my business. He loves him, that’s all I need to know.

I sit and the stars keep me company.  
I’ve welded the power of a god. I’ve flown amongst those stars, I’ve saved the universe. But what’s the point of saving the universe, who am I saving it for? I look down at the globe below. I’m saving it for them, for our family on Krakoa but also for all of them, the ones I know, the millions I don’t know. The ones who hate me. Who’d kill me. Who love me. I’m saving it for golden eyes that trust me, that trust me to do the right thing.  
But I’m living in a privileged bubble on the moon, Kurt doesn’t live in seclusion, he has dinner in a public cafeteria, he talks to everyone, he knows everyone, what they do, where they come from. Which made him a soft target.  
I have a lot to think about.


	4. Chapter 4

I wake with an armful of warm, blue, Elf. He lifts his head and looks me in the eye and in a completely normal tone of voice says.  
“Er, Logan, why am I in your bed?”  
I smile down at him, but then there’s a noise in the bathroom, Ororo, I’m guessing, and the shutters come down as the memories resurface. He starts shivering. But he was back, just for a moment, he was here and he was whole. I stroke his hair.  
“It’s alright, it’s just Ororo. You’re safe here.” He doesn’t answer me, because he can’t.

Ororo really wants to join us, she has a lightning bolt with Mystique’s name on it. But Kurt’s mind has gone into itself again. Not as tightly as yesterday, he’s nowhere near as unresponsive but he’s clearly still very sick. We get him dressed and when Ororo goes out into the habitat, in search of breakfast, he follows her. I bring up the rear, keeping a close eye on him, he doesn’t look too steady on his feet.  
Jean is sat at the kitchen table, alone. He stops, stares at her, I know what he’s thinking, Mystique can be anyone, no one can be trusted, I think that’s why he followed Ororo, to keep her in sight, so she couldn’t be replaced. He starts shaking again, every so slightly, looking between Ororo and Jean. But then Jean clearly **speaks** to him through the psylink and he relaxes. So we have a strange, stilted breakfast, none of us are in the mood for small talk, but Kurt needs to eat.  
We agree to go down in half an hour, Scott’s already down there, we’re trying to keep this under the radar, if Mystique smells a rat, she won’t rise to the bait.

*****

I pick Jeannie up in my arms and she looks me in the eye. I know she wants to apologise, again. I know she’s sorry for what’s happened but it’s too soon, I’m still too angry. So I’m all business.  
“Turn it on.” She nods and activates the Inducer and her familiar face is replaced by his.  
We step through the portal from The Summer House back to Krakoa and I carry ‘Kurt’ back to his habitat. I don’t care who sees us, the more the better, he’s under my protection now and everyone should know that.

It’s a gamble; as far as I can tell it’s a single bomb, but there’s always the possibility that she’s got a booby trap laid that’ll flatten half the island. We’ll trigger the bomb and Jeannie will play dead, with the Image Inducer set to show ‘Kurt’s’ mangled remains. We’re guessing that one of the first to show up will be Mystique. We don’t know who she’ll look like, Jean will scan their heads, I’ll scan their body language. There’s no guarantee she’ll show, but I think she will, this time it isn’t a big bomb, I think she’s hoping to maim, not kill. Dead, Kurt isn’t in any pain.

Jean looks round Kurt’s apartment as I put her down. It really is beautiful, little white flowers everywhere, I keep joking with him that the Island has a crush on him. Maybe it does, there were flowers in my bathroom up on the Moon this morning, they weren’t there before Kurt moved in.  
The bomb is on his bedside table. It’s in his bible, his rosary rests on top of it. Bitch. Fucking bitch.  
I make small talk, in case Mystique is listening and I head for the door. Jean’ll trigger the bomb with her TK, we don’t want me in there when it goes off; we don’t want my senses blunted by the blast. Then she gets to play dead and we see who else shows up.  
I pause in the doorway. “You’ll be okay?”  
She nods, the plan’s not without risk, but she’s one of the most powerful mutants on the planet, she’ll be fine.  
The door closes behind me and I step into the corridor. The crack of the detonation loud and disturbing, even though I know it’s coming. If I hadn’t been here, that could have been our lad in there.  
I open the doors and start kicking up a fuss.  
People come running. Including Sean and Black Tom, I’d forgotten Sean is practically Kurt’s neighbour. Shit, I don’t really want to traumatise him, Sean is an old friend. Jeannie is still playing possum, Sean suddenly loses some of the tension in his pose, I’m braced to tackle him. Is that you, bitch? But Jean speaks to me via our link **I’ve told Sean were running a scam.**  
Okay good, but where is the damn woman?

A scream cuts through the air, piercing, I stumble and put my hands over my ears, for a second or two, it’s agonising but then it’s cut short. Sean and Tom react as though someone has run them through with a knife, Sean spins, yelling “Theresa!” And starts back towards the door, back towards his habitat, jostling with people coming the other way, adding to the confusion. And still no Mystique.  
Theresa Cassidy, Sean’s little lass, red hair, freckles, sonic scream, like her dad. A scream cut short.

And then, She’s there. In the corridor. Floating about a foot off the ground. Holy crap.

Her red hair floats around her like seaweed. Her yellow eyes burn with unholy fire, her teeth are pointed. Her skin is still blue, but it’s hard to see, she’s glowing with a black non-light. Her hands are bloody claws.  
Everyone is running away from her, except Sean, Tom and me. Everyone else has more sense than us.  
**Jeannie!** I put out an urgent mental call and she comes flying out of Kurt’s habitat, a beautiful avenging green, red, gold angel.  
And Mystique swats her away like she’s nothing. Jean Grey, my Jeannie, one of the strongest mutants on the damn planet, but she’s flung back through the door with the crashing of glass. Sean is sobbing, he launches himself at her, his sonic scream tears the air, but with no more success than Jean had, she throws him down the corridor with a slight motion of her bloody fingers. Her mad eyes are on me.

“Good day to you, Logan. And where’s my lovely little boy?” Her voice is like gravel. The air smells of blood, old, stale blood, as well as Theresa’s fresh blood, still dripping from her hands.  
“Monster!” Tom rages, Theresa is his niece, and, at his command, Krakoa sends out tendrils of vines to entangle her. She smiles, mouth full of those sharp teeth, as the vines touch her, they wither and die.  
Black Tom and I are lifted off the ground by dark ribbons of night, breathing is not an option, neither is moving, I hear the blood pounding in my ears.

What the fuck is happening? The power coming off her is growing, the air crackles with static. She’s a fucking shapeshifter, where the hell is all this coming from? She decked Jeannie! The smell of blood gets stronger. There are black feathers floating in the charged air.

Summers optic blast hits her square in the back. It doesn’t even slow her down, she just ignores it. Others are coming, I can hear them, but they’re not going to be in time for me or Tom. The three of us are now in a sphere of that black light, no one is getting in and I have a pretty strong idea that Tom and I aren’t getting out.  
Jeanie’s back on her feet, Sean and Summers are throwing shit at her, but it’s not connecting, how the hell did the mad bitch get so strong?

And then I hear a sound. I think it is quite possibly the last sound I want to hear right now. It’s the ‘BAMF’ of displaced air.

He stands before her, the purple cloud of brimstone dissipating about his knees and he looks up into her terrible, beautiful face.  
“Mother?”  
“Hello, my darling.” Black wings beat in the air. I can’t move. Krakoa tries to reach her again but the vines turn back as soon as they touch her dark sphere. Another concussive blow from Summers, but she doesn’t even spare him a glance. Lightning cracks across the ceiling, Storm has caught up with her missing charge. But nothing reaches her.  
She’s a goddess. She is our Death.

And Kurt stands there, in worn sweatpants and jumper, bare feet, looking up into her face. Of course, we discussed coming here over breakfast, even traumatised, that clever mind was listening, never underestimate Kurt.

He looks calm, he looks serene, he looks like a fucking martyr.

If he survives the next thirty seconds, I am going to kill him.

“Shall we begin, my darling?”  
She focuses her fury on him, like a dark tornado of malice. He twists beneath her rage, wounds open up on his arm, his shoulder, she makes a motion with her clawed fingers and his flesh parts. He cries out with the pain, blood flowing down his arm. The cuts curve in obscene patterns, like ribbons of scarlet against the blue.  
“I’m going to flay you alive, my pretty child.”  
He’s held before her, his feet still on the ground but immobile before her power. I wonder for a second, if he could teleport away? But, of course, while she’s focusing on him, she’s not hurting me or Tom or anyone else.  
“Please, ah!” A cut opens on his cheek bone. He twists his neck away in desperation but the clawed hands draw more curves in the air and his flesh continues to part.  
“And when I’ve finished with you, my lovely child, maybe they will give me my wife back.”

I struggle, desperately to reach him but she has me held fast. I can’t watch her do this. I can hear myself yell and snarl, I sound like an animal, but no matter how hard I strain, I can’t break free. Tom has gone still, his eyes fixed on her ugly, beautiful, terrible face.

For fuck’s sake, where is everyone? There are bangs as someone tries a gun, with no obvious effect. But where are the big ‘guns’? Xavier? Apocalypse? Mags? Someone has to be able to get through. She can’t be that strong.

Kurt cries out again, his clothes are in rags at his feet, she moves her hand across, a swirl of bloody pain opens on his beautiful shoulder. She moves closer, breathing in his agony like a drug.  
He trying to speak, his words catch in his throat. She leans in, she’s so close, her eyes glowing and he touches her.  
He’s holding one of the Krakoan flowers still, like some stupid peacenik hippy. It’s white petals are splattered with his blood.  
It’s all Krakoa needs.  
The vines race up his legs like lightning, engulfing him and through him and that bloody flower, to her. She shrieks with fury but the vines flow into her mouth, her hair, down her arms, torso, legs, pulling her towards the floor.  
Sentient, not just an island, but a sentient being, all it needed was an opening.  
The black lightning and blacker feathers tear the air, slicing Tom and me in her fury. I can’t see anything of Kurt at all, just a writhing mass of green, enveloping her, him. The bloody stink in the air is overwhelmed by the greener smell of loam, plants and living, growing things.

Her power bubble dissipates and I can move again. I launch myself towards the green mass; I have to get him away from her. With my claws I start desperately to carve at the roots, at the lianas, at the fucking flowers. I have to get to him, yelling his name in the sudden silence.  
Jean’s telekinesis pulls me back and I rage against it, the berserk fury rising in my mind.  
**Logan!** she screams in my head.  
**Let me fucking go Jeannie! I’ve got to get him away...**  
**Logan! Calm down, or you’ll free her too!**  
I’m sobbing for air, Kurt, my boy, my gentle, gentle boy. With that Thing.

Tom walks forward, his face streaked with blood and tears.  
He crouches next to the green trap and his hands reach out, out and into it.  
And Krakoa, slowly releases its grasp.

Jeannie lets go of me and I stumble forward. And then he’s in my arms, filthy, bloody, shaking but alive and moving and I gather him against me. He’s coughing soil and dirt from his mouth.  
“I’m sorry.” His voice is hoarse. I brush more soil and dirt and bloody white flowers from his face, the wounds are full of crap. He’s a complete bloody mess. I take his head in my hands and look into his golden eyes.  
“You goddamn idiot.” I yell. “You goddam stupid, reckless, fucking...”  
It’s not the usual way to say ‘I love you’ but it will have to do for now.


	5. Epilogue

The hot African sun is sinking in a blaze of glory.  
He walks towards me, that sway of the hips, a counterbalance to his tail.  
His eyes glow like the sunset.

Wakanda isn’t Barcelona, but it is safe. Besides, he only wants to go to Barcelona to see _La Sagrada Familia _, he can’t fool me.__

____

____

We’ve been here for nearly two months now, he’s pretty much healed. As much as I think he’ll ever be. He’s got physical scars, down his right arm, across his chest, shoulder and a crescent on his cheek. The cuts were full of soil and debris, the healers can only do so much. The fur mostly hides them, but I know where each and every one is. The mental scars are deeper.

We stayed on Krakoa long enough to see little Theresa back amongst the living. She was a host to a goddess. Who knew? Well, everyone apart from me, apparently.  
Mystique certainly did. 

Mystique, who is now safely entombed, deep in suspended animation in the bowels of Krakoa. Once Kurt got some of the Krakoan flora on to her, his little white flower, the Island had her.

The Morrigan? Never heard of her. Would be very happy if I never heard of her ever again.  
Celtic death goddess, apparently, red hair, shapeshifter, fond of crows and killing people. Sounds like good match for the evil bitch. I hope they rot together.

Sean and Tom are glad Theresa is free of Her too. She said she was going to flay Kurt, but the cuts on his flesh are patterns, deliberate, The Morrigan was marking him, marking him as hers. Tom says they are power lines, I shudder to think what she had in mind for him.

Ororo came here with us. The Wakandan people adore her, we are welcome to stay as long as we want as honoured guests. T’Challa is a good man. Good job too, the human world isn’t safe for my boy, Krakoa wasn’t, I’m running out of options. And he will be safe. I won’t have it any other way.  
Ororo resigned from the Quiet Council, but I think she’s considering going back, she can see the good she can do there.  
I’m still not having anything to do with them.  
Kurt, of course, has forgiven the lot of them. Probably his mother too. He’s an idiot.

Jeannie came to see us off before we left Krakoa.  
She’d not been able to save his bible from the explosion, but she’d protected his rosary with her telekinesis. Kurt hugged her goodbye. I didn’t.  
I love her. I fucking love her. But I don’t like her much, just at the moment.  
I’m still mad at her. At all of them. Because while they were all ‘sorry’ they were sorry for the wrong reasons. They were sorry that Ororo and I weren’t told, sorry the plan didn’t work, sorry we had to find out. They still don’t understand the enormity of what they did, the horror they placed on Kurt’s shoulders, the responsibility for Mystique’s actions, which wasn’t his in the first place. He was the innocent victim in the whole stinking mess.

He comes and sits beside me, he’s been out with some of the Wakandan kids. I like little kids, innocent, full of fun, Kurt likes teens, gawky, misfits like him, unsure of themselves and their place in the world. He so self assured, they blossom under his attention. The Dora Milaje also seem to have an interest in him, which is strange, as I didn’t think they even spoke to mere men like us. According to Shuri he’s also ‘cute’. I’m not sure adult German men are allowed to be cute, ever, there’s probably a statute against it. But there you go, what do I know?

He leans against my knee. He’s not clingy any more, he can be away from me for hours, but I’m still the safest, most secure thing in his world.  
I kiss his temple. And he’s the most beautiful thing in my world.

I will always hate Mystique, I’ll never forgive her for all the pain she’s put him through. But she did one good thing in her wicked, evil life, she had a child, she gave him to us. To me. And for that I can’t help but be grateful.

**Author's Note:**

> Mommy Dearest has really gone over the top this time.  
> Mystique is due to come to a boil over Irene in January. I have no idea how Marvel will deal with her, but if I was her, this is what I’d do to get The Council’s attention. It’s possible that I am Not Nice.
> 
> Plot Spoilers- Siryn, Theresa Cassidy is currently the host of The Morrigan. Oh, *her*, I have a very long history with *her*. And a long standing (er, thirty plus years) theory that Mystique, with her red hair, shapeshifting, skulls and Raven name, might be of interest to Her. 
> 
> Why yes, there may be a sequel, eventually, because you just know she’s going to get out at some point...
> 
> Edit to add, I feel sorry for Jean in this, she really is sorry, and for all the right reasons, it’s just that Logan doesn’t know that. From his point of view, she’s the one he trusted most, she’s the one who betrayed him most. He expected better from her. He’ll get over it. Eventually.


End file.
